


The Ghost at the Ball

by between_two_lungs



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/between_two_lungs/pseuds/between_two_lungs
Summary: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are on a mission to track down Moriarty before he destroys London. But, Holmes must not let any distractions get in the way – including Watson himself.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	The Ghost at the Ball

John Watson was swallowed up by the haunting, atmospheric violin, singing in response to the cello and the piano. He glided into a Gothic phantasmagoria of fashionable Londoners waltzing in patterns. This was the Royal Caledonian ball, filled with fountains of Cabernet Sauvignon and towers of edible delicacies. Watson was entranced by the lawless behavior of these rich people, all hoping to be taken to bed, or at least forgetting about life for a while. 

Across the room was Sherlock Holmes – a forlorn figure even in a crowded room. He looked positively dapper: a dark gray vest was tucked into matching gray pants, each embroidered with faint black lines. His shoes, black as coal, moved constantly, as if the crowd triggered a nervous tick. Underneath the vest was a white button-down shirt and a purple scarf tucked into the shirt around the neck. His only accessories were the chain of a pocket-watch and glasses with black, circular lenses. Watson forced his eyes to look away in case Holmes saw. And he had no idea which type of insult Holmes would come up with tonight. 

As he walked toward Holmes, Watson took in the sights. A lady draped in diamonds was dancing with a tall, muscular man, his hand gently placed behind her lower back. Another guy was drinking with a Tom Collins at the bar, while two blonde-haired laughed in a darkened corner of the hall, quietly whispering in a man’s ear. The light from candles on the table flickered on their partially exposed faces. The intoxicated and merry dancers circled around the room, each dance creating a new rotating pattern of feet, bodies, and voices devoid of identity. 

“Some party, right?” said Holmes as Watson approached him. Dark glasses covered his eyes, so Watson wasn’t able to tell whether he could see him or not from across the room. “In the end all of us are driven by the powerful motives of desire and lust; each succumbs to a weakness at some time. I hope to God this is not mine.”

He tilted his head back, draining an old-fashioned glass filled with gin.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what we do now if we don’t find Moriarty,” Watson replied. “We’re damned in this place whether we like it or not. We must find him soon.”

“Yes, Watson, I never forget my mission,” he retorted, half-smiling. “It’s a deep disappointment that this is what London calls fun.”

We watched the dancers twirl in endless motion. Some stopped to pick a treat from the overflowing towers and trays of tiny hors d'oeuvres, others sank into the shadows of seats surrounding the dance floor. I pitied them and wish I could’ve been just as free as them.

“Let’s talk a turn about the room,” said Holmes.

We glided around the circle of dancers, mere inches from each other. Something within me wanted to touch the cloth of his suit. I desired to know what it felt like.

“I feel like something is off,” Watson murmured. “None of this seems right.”

“What? The dancing?”

“No, the hosts of this ball. Where are they? And Where are they hiding Moriarty?” 

“Yes, Watson,” said Holmes. “You see that man standing by the doorway?”

“Yes.”

“His hands are quite tanned compared to the rest of his body, and there are many callouses, and not just on his fingertips. He seems quite stiff, and you can tell there’s a gun tucked behind his left back pocket. He’s clearly a guard, and perhaps for Moriarty.” 

I was silent as we continued walking in a circular motion around the hall. 

“Sherlock, where should we look first?”

Holmes stopped walking and looked at Watson.

“What?”

“That was the first time you said my name.”

Watson’s heart pounded faster in his chest. He felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs and his mind panicked.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Come with me.”

Holmes whisked Watson to the bar at the end of the room. He ordered a gin on the rocks (“Hendrick’s only, please.”) and ordered me a scotch. 

“It’s quite enjoyable to see you drink,” said Watson. “You never do.” 

Holmes smiled and walked away from the bar. Watson followed. 

“First, let’s look in this corridor here.”

Watson walked behind Holmes as they disappeared behind a curtain that closed off a hallway. As he entered the dark, he felt a hand grab him and push him gently onto a wall. Holmes and Watson were enclosed in darkness, except for a faint flickering of light from the gas-lit lamp on the wall.  
“For one night only,” breathed Holmes in Watson’s ear. “I can’t have any distractions. . .you know that.”

Watson’s heart pounded in his chest. He nodded in silence, breathing in the scent of tobacco and cedar from Holmes’ shirt and jacket. 

Holmes, gently, kissed Watson. His lips felt unexpectedly soft, and Watson inhaled his scent. Holmes pulled back and kissed Watson’s hand. 

“To be continued.”

Before Watson could speak, a shadow from around the corner revealed the outline of a man.

“Moriarty,” said Holmes.

He turned back and looked at Watson, with a fond look in his eyes.

“Later,” agreed Watson. 

He quickly kissed him one more time, then Holmes and Watson set off to look for the man who wanted to burn London and the world in flames.


End file.
